A few weeks or so ago, as I am often to be found doing, I was reading an article in the New York Times Magazine. This particular article was about Damien Echols, one of the men known as the West Memphis Three, subject of the documentaries titled Paradise Lost, and erstwhile denizen of Arkansas's Death Row.
A bit of background, if you need it. Back in 1993, three 8 year-old boys were found horribly murdered in West Memphis, Arkansas. Three teenage boys were accused, tried, and convicted of the killings. Unfortunately, there was approximately zero to negative evidence that they actually did it. Instead of, say, evidence tying them to the crime, the prosecution relied on the following rubric: they wore black clothes, had long hair, and listened to music like Metallica. Therefore, they worshipped Satan. Therefore, they killed the children as part of a Satan-worshipping cult ritual.
This August, the State of Arkansas arranged a plea deal and the three men were set free after 18 years in prison.
Reading the article took me back to when I had first seen the documentary and it made a big impact on me. I am, or was, the same age as the boys who were murdered, but when I watched the film I was closer in age to its teenage subjects. It's a story I've kept up on over the years, though I hadn't thought about it in some time when I heard about the Three's release. With the increase in news stories, it's to be expected, I guess, that I've spent some time thinking about it now.
What I wasn't prepared for was the shock of realization and revelation that came to me about that period of time. You guys, do you remember back in the 80s and 90s when everybody was obsessed with devil worshipping? Do you remember that shit? I had kind of forgotten. But there was this case. There was the McMartin preschool case. I'm pretty sure at some point my sister insisted I watch Oprah have a very special episode talking about Satanism. I remember when my cousin was taking classes for her confirmation, and the priests told her class that the woods of South Jersey were crawling with crazy devil worshippers ready and waiting to snatch us up. She came home from one late-night meeting crying. Nevermind that among her friends were the very black-clad weirdos the clergy were probably envisioning.
At the time, I don't think I knew that there was anything wrong with this. When you're a kid, these things are always real. We rented way too many scary movies. I remember creeping down my staircase at night thinking, "It's not real. It's not real." about some malevolent force or another. I was convinced that some presence lived in my closet. When I saw this documentary, I had the definite sense that these kids were innocent. They were weird. I was weird. It was all a misunderstanding. But it never occurred to me that the premise of their prosecution, ritual Satanic murder, was unsound. They may not have done it, but such things were done. Everybody knew it was real.
Looking back at it now, I am horrified to the point of laughter. I can't believe that we all lived in a world where the mere suggestion was not the most batshit thing you'd ever heard. Not a child's world where this stuff was real anyway, but the actual adult world in which people believed this with a straight face.
I'm not sure when things changed. By the time I was in high school, the kids in black trench coats were suspected of plotting school shootings, not devil worship. I read that it might have to do with the religious right turning their attention on The Gays who, of course, aren't out to kill your children, just corrupt them and warp their minds. We are still lamenting society's turpitude, with reality tv and what have you, it's just that these now these degradations are characterized as the innate failings of individuals rather than the influence of external evil spirits.
I guess if you look at it solely in this context, that's almost progress.
Monday
Thursday
Yes, there were pirouettes.
No, you won't be able to sing along.
Today I lived a dream that I had waited literally twenty years to see realized.
That's right, my friends: NEWSIES THE MUSICAL.
And, much like the ultimate outcome of the 1899 newsboys' strike, compromises were made, but it was ultimately a positively transformative experience.
Firstly, and most importantly, you will not be able to sing along. In my case, this may have been for the best. But in addition to adding several new numbers, the stage production changes a significant portion of the lyrics of the familiar tunes. "King Of New York" comes away with the least editing, so prep yourself for that. The dancing, though, was all in. It was like the most niche-market Cirque du Soleil you could imagine. The stage is its medium and it was glorious. The curtain call was more entertaining than perhaps half the shows I've ever seen. The set, comprised mainly of blocks of fire escapes, was a little Jailhouse Rock, but it made for an excellent platform for swinging and spinning.
There are also many changes to the storyline. Some of these worked for me, others didn't, but most just made me question. I feel like I need to sit for a while and suss out what the message of the show is, and how these choices serve (or don't serve) that message. Most reviews that you can already find of the show have made note that the story of the working class struggle against the wealthy elite is more resonant these days than it was in the early 90s. While that's certainly true, the story here is actually about the working class youth and their railing against the oppressive institutions of their elders. Considering that I attended a matinee performance, this was surprisingly well received by the audience. I have not yet reached a verdict.
Let me break down some of the other changes for you:
Omg, you guys. You remember Jack Kelly's love interest? She was a blonde girl, I think she was Davey's sister or something? Of course you don't. No one remembers her because she served absolutely no purpose. So they went and did the best thing I can think of: They made her Bryan Denton. It is by miles the best change in the production. (And, earning my love even further, she is still the king, not queen, of New York.) Unfortunately, the actress playing her is only half as delightful as she needs to be. But in more dynamic hands, this could be a role that little girls grow up longing to play, and her solo song is the only one of the additions that I fully enjoyed.
Crutchy's up ... nearly everyone else is down.
Without the megawatt star power of Max Casella, our main newsie becomes Crutchy. This makes a lot of sense, and it works for how they tell the story. Unfortunately, while the rest of the ensemble retains their quirky nicknames, they're even less discernible as individual characters than they were in the film. That's not Crutchy's fault; he's not getting more lines at the expense of anyone. But it seems like a waste of resources. I would have liked to see distinctive and memorable characters*. In addition to Crutchy, they also bulked up the role of Les, Davey's little brother. I liked that, too. He was entertaining. He added to things. Unfortunately, this left Davey himself off in a corner. Played very much as a Portrait of the Nebbish as a Young Man, he neither establishes a meaningful relationship with Jack nor does he stand on his own as a strike organizer. Around the beginning of the second half, I was trying to figure out, "Which one is that again?" before realizing it was Dave. Oy.
*Most especially for the love-of-my-young-life, Spot Conlon. Yes, Spot. He's a glorified extra. I should have asked Harvey Fierstein if he's familiar with the term "ensemble darkhorse." Oh hey, by the way, I totally met Harvey Fierstein. If he's reading this, I was the girl who shouted "Thank you, Mr. Fierstein!" as you were bookin' it to the parking lot. It is so, so, so weird that you don't have a beard anymore, by the way.
Pulitzer's moustache was not long enough to twirl.
But damned if he didn't try. In my least favorite modification, Joseph Pulitzer was portrayed as the most villainous villain this side of Anastasia's Rasputin. Granted, almost anything is a step down from Robert Duvall, but it was sour to realize that he could have gotten away with his monopolistic schemes if it hadn't been for those meddling kids.
Let's talk about Jeremy Jordan.
Jeremy Jordan played Jack Kelly. In his bio, it reads: "Jeremy Jordan is fulfilling his lifelong (well, since he was 9) dream of playing the infamous Jack Kelly!" And you guys, the highest compliment I can pay his performance is that I believe it. He was amazing. Christian Bale can get in line. God, I hope he makes it.
As a final note, I'd just like to say that the Paper Mill Playhouse has some serious layout issues to which the wicked bruise above my right knee can attest. They did provide me with an iced pumpkin muffin, though, which was nearly worth the $5 I paid for it.
Ladies and (... just ladies, right?), Newsies! the Musical.
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